The China Lover by Ian Buruma

Author:Ian Buruma
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atlantic Books Ltd

13

MY FIRST REACTION was one of panic. I felt as though I were about to be expelled from the Garden of Eden. Without a job, it would be impossible to stay in Japan. How would I cope with a life of exile in the cold country of my birth?

My friends, Carl, Nobu, and the others, were sympathetic. Nobu, the dear boy, even wept when he heard that I might have to leave. But there was nothing they could do to help me. Yoshiko was not surprised when I told her what had happened. She had already heard the news through the cinematic grapevine. She wondered whether General MacArthur himself was aware of the situation. She had friends in high places. In fact, she had a thought: Colonel Wesley F. Gunn, he would surely help. Such a charming man. She would invite us both to a party in her new house in Asagaya.

I didn’t know Colonel Gunn personally, of course, but was aware of his somewhat fearsome reputation as head of the Special Operations Section, and in a less sinister vein, as a legendary ladies’ man, with an endless supply of “kimono girls.” Rumor had it that he had even seduced Hara Setsuko, one of Japan’s most famous movie stars, also known as the Eternal Virgin because, although many tried, including studio bosses and cabinet ministers, no man had ever managed to lay a finger on her. A classical Japanese beauty, Hara cultivated a wholesome image, which only made her more desirable. But she remained impervious to all men who begged for her favors, until—so they say— Colonel Gunn came, saw, and conquered.

Yoshiko’s house was small, but well furnished in a girlish kind of way: thick cushions, fluffy carpets, a large collection of dolls, Chinese scrolls, and photographs of Yoshiko with a variety of people. I recognized Kawamura in several pictures, Ikebe, Hotta, and others whom I couldn’t identify. In the Western-style living room hung a portrait of the young Yoshiko, dressed in a high-necked Chinese dress. The artist had made much of her large eyes and red lips, like two burning pieces of coal above a pair of plump cherries.

Major Gunn, who turned up with his executive officer, named Dietrick, was no Valentino. Short and thickset, with a bull neck, he had short blond hair, like pig bristles. Dietrick was by far the better-looking. But Gunn exuded the kind of energy that could easily explode into aggression. He took Yoshiko in his arms and twirled her around, while she shrieked in mock protest, her short legs kicking. Dietrick, a more reserved character, put down some boxes from the PX, filled with bottles of whiskey, sausages, cheese, perfumes, records, and various kinds of ladies’ underwear.

Neither Gunn nor Dietrick appeared to be too pleased to see me, and they pretty much ignored my presence for the rest of the evening, which after the first few rounds of whiskey started to get quite wild. Yoshiko had made an attempt to interest Gunn in my case, but without any noticeable effect.

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